


In The Key of Kiss Off: Steve Rogers

by Edoraslass



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles inspired by The Violent Femmes' song "Kiss Off", during The First Avenger timeframe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Key of Kiss Off: Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> The drabbles don't really have anything to do with the song; I just like the countdown as thematic prompts.  
> May turn into a collection; I'm thinking about doing one for a number of characters
> 
> If you don't know the song, you can find it on YouTube, here:  
> https://youtu.be/__jh3S9DzYU

**~*~**

 

**One (Cause You Left Me)**

He remembers being that skinny kid, of course. He remembers the colds, the coughs, the asthma, the bouts with pneumonia; the way cuts and scrapes (from fights or just clumsiness) didn't heal as quickly as Bucky's did. He remembers how much effort it sometimes was just to walk two or three blocks, and how some mornings he woke creaking and aching like an old man.

He remembers the skinny kid in the intake photo, and although it makes no sense, and he'd never breathe a word to anyone in the SSR, sometimes Steve feels guilty for leaving that kid behind.

 

**Two (For My Family)**

“Can you fuckers stop beatin' your gums?”

“Ain't you learned to sleep through a little noise yet, Morita?”

“C'mon, Sarge, he gets so cranky if he don't get eight hours...”

“ _Merde_ , it is late - I will explode the next man ...”

“Ma, he's on my side of the campfire...”

“Bleeding hell, Dugan, get your blasted boots out of my face...”

“Christ almighty, all of you _shut up and go to sleep_!”

“…”

“Ooooooo you yarddogs pissed off Dad.”

“Ain't you supposed to be on watch, there, Captain America, not engagin' in camraderie?”

“I can't believe I ever wanted brothers.”

 

**Three (For My Heartache)**

It's a tiny village at the foot of the Swiss alps. Or it was.

Now it's smoldering timbers, bricks scattered around foundations, carefully-tended gardens trampled by booted feet. It's broken glass and stone, furniture thrown into the street, curtains hanging limply in panes of shattered windows.

It's small knots of people, dazed, weeping, staring with vacant eyes as the Commandos pick their way through the debris.

They stay for two days, building haphazard shelters from the rubble, treating wounds of varying severity, helping scavenge for food, digging graves.

This wasn't even HYDRA. Sometimes Steve forgets there's another enemy out there.

 

**Four (For My Headache)**

It's a tiny grey kitten that blinks up at them from Morita's pack with wide amber eyes.

“Are you fuckin' serious?” Bucky's disbelieving.

Morita is defensive rather than repentant. “It was just wanderin' around, and I thought, since we're just goin' straight to HQ...”

“You thought Phillips needed a kitten?” Dugan says, almost repressing a grin.

“I couldn't leave it out there!”

Dernier is murmuring in French, scratching the kitten's ears; Falsworth and Jones just shake their heads.

“Captain?”

Steve looks to Bucky for help, and that asshole only grins. Steve glares at him, rubbing his forehead, muttering to himself.

 

**Five (For My Lonely)**

Bucky's there, right next to him, ready to fight, ready to throw himself in front of Steve like he always has been. He's still quick with a wisecrack, even if his humour's gotten incredibly dark, and his smile has turned into something more bitter than smug.

He'll still intertwine his fingers with Steve's when no-one else can see, still cop a feel if he thinks he can get away with it. He'll still pull Steve close when they have a tent to share.

Of course Bucky's changed; they all have. But too often, it feels like Bucky's not even there.

 

**Six (For My Sorrow)**

Steve keeps forgetting.

He keeps turning to get Bucky's opinion on a bit of strategy, keeps looking to his left with a smile to see Bucky's reaction when someone cracks a joke. Keeps expecting to hear Bucky's voice mixed with those of the others when they're standing around, shooting the shit.

He can't wrap his mind around it. There's no way James Buchanan Barnes isn't there. He's always been there, long as Steve can remember.

Steve tries his best to act as if he's accepted it, tries to keep going on like normal. Tries to act like he can breathe.

 

**Seven (No Tomorrow)**

He has no idea what he's doing; there are so many levers and dials, and it's not like he's ever flown a goddamn _plane_ before.

He's watched Howard – idly, not with any intent, just curiousity – but God only knows if the instrument panel on Howard's plane looks anything like the panel on any other plane. Howard does like to tinker.

 _Shit, Rogers,_ Bucky's voice smirks in his mind. _Even a blockhead like you can crash a fuckin' plane._

He takes a deep breath, lowers himself into the pilot's seat, and speaks aloud to Peggy. “There's not gonna be a safe landing...”

 

**I Forget What Eight Was For**

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

**Nine (For The Lost God)**

The media frenzy is a nightmare; headlines everywhere, in every news outlet across the globe, in every language, scream some variation of “CAPTAIN AMERICA ALIVE”.

Everyone wants to bombard him with questions, to have him on their television programs, to plaster his mug all over billboards and Times Square and something called “the internet”. He can't buy a bagel without being stared at like a myth come to life.

Steve's been out of the ice for two weeks. He doesn't want to be anyone's legend. He just wants to find a life again.

If he can.

If they'll let him.

 

**Ten (Is For Everything)**

He hadn't gotten around to asking the Smithsonian for his things back, wasn't sure he wanted to.

But a courier has just delivered two boxes, so someone must have done it for him.

Notebooks with yellowed sketches he almost remembers drawing.  A pair of shoes so small he can barely fit his hand inside one. Oh holy fuck, his mother's cameo, his father's watch.

A handful of photos, faded. He and Bucky in front of a paper moon, laughing, arms slung over each other's shoulders. Bucky had kissed him for the first time not ten minutes earlier, under the boardwalk.

 


End file.
